


Visitation Rights

by Raven_Ehtar



Series: Loki's Brood [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Established Relationship, Family, Family Feels, Forgiveness, Gen, M/M, Parent Loki, Parent Tony Stark, Past Rape/Non-con, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Ehtar/pseuds/Raven_Ehtar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has more than three children, and occasionally he's allowed to see them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visitation Rights

**Author's Note:**

> And now, time for a POV switch! This is the first time we’ll be in someone’s head other than Tony’s, but not the last. :) And it’s also time for a larger than usual dose of mythology. 
> 
> **Warnings:** TRIGGER WARNING, mentions of past non-con.
> 
>  **Historian’s Note:** This series takes place after Phase One. Anything post The Avengers is not taken into account.
> 
>  **Soundtrack:** ‘[Loki's Brood](http://8tracks.com/raven-ehtar/loki-s-brood)' on 8tracks

To Tony Stark these sojourns were ‘field trips’ and nothing more. And if Loki had anything to do with it, it would forever remain that way.

‘Field trip’ was a term that Loki had learned which was entirely Midgardian. There was no direct equivalent in Asgard or Jötunheimr, or in any Realm so far as he knew, and he found it extremely useful. It was used when referring to outings, usually taken by children under the watchful eye of an adult, in order to enrich their education. Since the education of Fenrir, Hela and Jörmungandr was being handled by himself and Stark, rather than entrusting it to some Earth ‘institution,’ the introduction of such field trips was a logical one. And for the most part each of the field trips was used for the triplets’ education, with either of their fathers taking them out to a variety of human places, teaching them about their new home. But there were some field trips where only Loki accompanied them, when Loki was intentionally vague as to where it was they went or what they did. About these trips, the children were sworn to secrecy. 

These were the times they would all return, for a day, to Asgard. 

That morning went smoother than most of its kind. Whenever Loki and the children planned to leave on one of their trips, Stark insisted that they take a formal farewell beforehand. For a time Loki had thought it one of those Earth customs that was just so ingrained into human life that they didn’t even think of it, and forgot to explain it to outsiders. It fit in well enough with the customs of Asgard so Loki hardly noticed or objected to it. 

It wasn’t until he had been a part of Midgard and a part of Stark’s life for years that he came to realize it was an eccentricity of his, not the norm. When he came to that realization, Loki paid more heed to the proceedings. It did not take long to come to the conclusion, watching as Stark went to his knees to be on a level with each of the children, and seeing just how gentle he was with each of them, how he would look into their faces and speak so earnestly, whether with instructions to behave, to enjoy themselves or to give Loki ‘a bad time’ while they were gone, that Stark was worried. Loki thought that it was worry purely for the children, that he fretted when they were out of his sight, until he noticed that Stark leveled the same look, the same earnestness on _him_ as he did the children. His concern was not restricted to the triplets, but extended to encompass all of them. If there were any doubt as to what particular shape his worries were taking, the long stares and lingering touches as they left, and then the energetic, boisterous welcomes on their return were more than enough to clear that up: 

He was worried that they wouldn’t return. 

Had Loki felt like deluding himself, he would have been insulted. But Loki was ever one for facing truth, whatever his reputation might hold. Deception was all well and good for pranks or war, but he was one who discovered and exposed truths more than buried them. From his point of view, Stark had good reason to fear being abandoned. His own longstanding difficulties with that very issue aside, there was Loki’s nature to consider as well, as ever. He did not present as the most loyal or steadfast of creatures. Loki could not blame him overly much for such concerns, and refrained from attempting to dispel them verbally. That would have had quite the opposite effect as intended. Instead he reassured Stark with their continued and unbroken record of reappearances. It would have to do, and eventually Stark would calm down and trust him enough to not think he would desert him, taking the children with him. 

Very briefly, Loki had worried that Stark’s concern stemmed from knowing where it was they were really going. But were that the case he was sure that there would be more evidence, some sort of hint or roundabout questions, something. There was none, and there were only a limited number of people who could have told him: The children, all of whom Loki was certain of, or Loki himself.

Or Thor. Thor was likewise sworn to silence on this point, and in his case, this was an oath to be broken at the risk of slow castration. 

That morning the leave taking was reserved. They were making some strides in the trust Loki so looked forward to, with stalling kept to a minimum. He still fixed Loki with a familiar look before they departed, though. One that was at once a plea to return, a searing of all that he saw in his memory should Loki fail to do so, and an almost imperceptible forcing of will, to trust again that they would return.

Putting Stark out of his mind, Loki transported the children and himself via a small twist of magic to a long distant and empty forest. There were other ways of leaving the Tower without drawing notice of the general populace, but none quite so convenient, despite the drain on Loki’s resources. The alternatives all, involved a lot of sneaking and subterfuge. That was fine, but they took time, and Loki had no desire to waste any of that. 

Soon following their own arrival, Thor came, falling from the skies in a whirl of Mjölnir, landing just beside them. Thor shared a warm greeting with his nephews and niece while Loki did his best to not feel the resentment, familiar and bitter as bile, rising in his throat. 

Those complete, Thor turned his attention to his brother. His blue eyes were as clear and as quietly mournful as they ever were when they looked Loki’s direction. Jörmungandr had inherited his uncle’s eyes, even if they shared no more blood ties than he to a boulder. Just as blue, piercing and sad, it was sometimes difficult to _not_ see Thor when looking at his son. Especially so when his mind would wander back especially far, and he could remember his brother as a boy. His eyes hadn’t been sad whenever he looked at Loki then, but were always bright and shining. 

That had been a very long time ago.

“Are you ready, brother?”

Loki blinked, coming back to the present. He looked to the little ones, made sure they were prepared. He took Hela’s hand, who in turn took Fenrir’s, who took Jörmungandr’s. He nodded at Thor, preparing himself with a final clenching of stomach and jaw. “Ready.”

Thor nodded, turned his attention to the sky. “Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!”

* * *

Travel on the new Bifrost was not as smooth as it had been on the old. Before there had been a sense of travelling at great speed, and a second’s disorientation upon arriving at one’s destination, but that was all. Now there were pitches and falls, yawns, lurches, shudders and bucks as they zipped through the long dark spaces between the Realms. Construction of the new Bifrost would have benefitted greatly from the addition of even one more hand skilled in magic, but Loki would never be allowed that chance. Though he was the most skilled magician Asgard had produced, none would see the new Rainbow Bridge constructed by the one who’d caused the old to be destroyed.

Even if it wasn’t _his_ hand that had cracked the old bridge to pieces…

The five of them landed roughly, the children staggering as Loki and Thor each took a step to recover their balance. The children gripped each other tight, and did not let go once they were steady. If anything, their grips only tightened. 

They were back in Asgard, a place where nightmares were forged. 

Loki disliked bringing them back intensely, to have them set foot in this Realm after all that had happened. In some ways it was more difficult for him than his children, as he had spent centuries here and the memories were many, hiding around every corner of the place, while for the triplets this had never been home. But the small time they had spent in Asgard, it had more than made up the balance in horror what it lacked in duration.

But for what Loki had come for, there was no other choice in location, and the children had made it clear that they would not be left behind. 

They were not alone when they landed. Heimdall the All-Seeing stood, solid and implacable, his golden-red eyes fixed straight ahead over those who had stumbled to a stop before him. Heimdall never needed to look at you to observe you, or to let you know that he saw just as well indirectly as directly. As was also usual whenever Loki and his children came into his presence, there was a deep scowl fixed to his features. 

Thor smiled at the ancient guard, pretending not to notice the expression. “Is all prepared, my friend?”

“Aye, Prince Thor,” the great man rumbled. It was a small, sideways insult he offered Loki, making certain to refer to Thor as ‘Prince’ before him. It might only have been a simple matter of etiquette, except that Loki knew full well that he nearly never spoke so when Loki was _not_ present. 

It would only give the ever peering oaf pleasure if Loki acknowledged his slight, however, so he ignored the muscle bound idiot. 

Thor nodded at the affirmation and strode past him, through the door that led to the road to Asgard. Loki and his children, still daisy-chained together, followed after. The boys each glanced up warily at Heimdall as they passed, but Hela stared at him the whole time. Surprisingly, Heimdall actually turned his great helmed head to stare directly back, metallically shining eyes focused fully on the girl.

To many it would have been little more than a blank stare, though framed with a frown. But Loki recognized the sentiment behind it, he had seen it so often: Bare hatred.

Heimdall nursed a hatred for Loki’s children, and he was not alone in that. The great majority of Asgard and Æsir shared that sentiment. None of them hid it, not from Odin, not from Thor, and certainly not from Loki or even the triplets themselves. And well they knew what those looks could spell for them. The safety and comfort that they knew in Midgard, amongst the Avengers, was a rare chance.

Still, Hela held the murderous glare with her own calm, one-eyed gaze. Loki was proud of her, her courage and audacity.

Outside was a carriage hitched to two fine horses. In reality it was closer to a trap, as that would draw less attention than a full carriage, and discretion was a top priority for their visits to Asgard. Their ‘field trips,’ their true purpose and even their existence was a secret not just in Midgard, but in Asgard as well. Outside the five of them arranging themselves into the trap, only three others knew: Heimdall, Odin and the one they had come to see. 

All things being equal, Loki would have gladly shunned the Realm altogether if he could. According to the law, he wasn’t even meant to be there.

There were a great many things which Loki did not tell Stark. There was an understanding between them, whose main tenant was that no awkward questions were asked about each other’s pasts, while efforts were made to be as open as possible about the present. This trip, and all those like it, did not count in Loki’s view, as they had more to do with his past than his present. 

He knew Stark had a great many questions – he had asked quite a few of them before their understanding had been reached – and one of the more obvious sets of questions centered around his trial from years before. He wanted to know how such things proceeded, how decisions were reached, what decision, exactly, _had_ been reached for Loki and what his official sentence had been. He wanted to know what the errands of penance were that Loki had been carrying out all this time, and he wanted to know what would happen when the tasks were complete.

Stark believed he had the majority of the picture without Loki having to provide those answers, and Loki let him continue to believe that. Stark thought that he had received a generally negative ruling, and that his sentence was to carry out a series of ‘good deeds’ as his atonement, after which he would be considered to have a more or less clean slate to start over with. He believed, through something Thor had once said to him, that he had regained Hela, Fenrir and Jörmungandr because he had demanded their custody from the Allfather, who was merciful and granted it.

Loki saw no reason to correct this view, to tell him that his sentence had been permanent banishment. Nor had he seen fit to tell him that the sentence had been greatly reduced from the original – public execution. The deeds he carried out that Stark and the rest assumed were to atone for past deeds were actually a part of the conditions for his more lenient sentence. He was banished to another Realm and set to with a never ending list of tasks to hold back the executioner’s axe. Should he falter, or fail to whittle away at that list, then a public and much celebrated death was what Loki could look forward to.

And as for the children… he supposed he _had_ demanded them back, in a way, though that had been far from his wording. His actual wording had been suicidal in how he had railed against the Allfather, Thor, the warriors of Asgard and anyone else he could think of. He had ranted, spewing venom and accusations freely but pointedly, always delivering them to those who’d earned them. Worst of all had been those he’d dealt to Odin, his father and kidnapper, for his part in what had become of his children, and their mothers. In the end, more than a little maddened with the trial and the events proceeding it, he’d told Odin that he might as well put his children to the sword as well, for that would be better than what would become of them in the care of the Æsir. Better oblivion than to suffer the so-called mercy of Asgard and its people.

Loki had somehow walked away from the trial with his life and his children, merely banished to the Realm he had tried to conquer. 

More than that, he’d gotten what Midgard referred to as ‘special dispensation.’ He was allowed, at certain times and for a set number of hours, to return to Asgard unmolested to spend time with the one son Odin was not willing to give up.

Of course this came with stipulations. To cross into Asgard, Loki was required to have an escort with him at all times. The only one who could fill that role was Thor, so the entire time he spent in Asgard his brother was by his side, glued to him. It was also a requirement set by the Allfather that no one was to become aware of these visits, these repeated breakings of his exile. If anyone did become aware of them, Odin would claim no knowledge of them. Loki would be left to his own defenses, subject to the punishments of the crown once again, and this time there would be no mercy.

It was more than Loki could have reasonably expected. And even though he detested Asgard, he never missed one of these few times he was allowed to come, to visit his son. 

So few of his children were still alive, he would not squander an opportunity to spend time with one of them. 

Thor drove the trap, taking long routes that wound their way through the surrounding wilderness of Asgard’s capitol city, until eventually they found the road, little more than a trail wide enough for the trap, that would lead them where they needed to go. It was a nerve wracking business. All three of the children were edgy, and Loki did his best to distract them with tales of himself and their uncle from their boyhood. Thor was good enough to provide the indignant protests where appropriate, and after some time and a little more distance from the city, they began to relax, then to smile at the tales. 

By the time they reached the meadow that was their destination, they were all much more comfortable than before. 

It was a beautiful meadow, lush with springing grass and fertile turf, one rise rolling gently into the next and dotted with flowers. The whole place was bordered by thick forest, this being the one break in the trees to be found for a mile in any direction. One building, a large stable and fodder barn, sat to one side, half hidden in the tree line.

Loki felt him before he saw him. A sensation trembled along his nerves, strong and completely foreign from himself. It was a wash of emotion coming from the outside: Happiness, excitement and joy.

The triplets also felt it, and were scrambling out of the trap eagerly almost before Thor could pull to a stop. They hit the turf and together, as though they’d rehearsed it, they gave out a peculiar warbling whistle that echoed over the hills. 

It was the whistle he liked. 

Over the top of the rise came an answering sound, a whinny, soon followed by a magnificent horse. _The_ magnificent horse. Sleipnir, Odin’s steed.

He stood incredibly high, eighteen hands at the shoulder, and possessed eight legs, all working in a complex, eye watering fashion to move forward without becoming entangled with each other. His coat was gray, the gray of shining steel or of the skies grown heavy with storms, spotted lightly at flank and shoulder with a smattering of lighter color. Tail, mane and the feathering about all eight hooves was black, and the long mane had a habit of flipping forward roguishly over the black, long lashed eyes that watched all with a startling intelligence. His expressive ears were canted forward, listening and attentive to the children’s whistles. As soon as he spotted them at the edge of the meadow, Sleipnir skipped and trotted over, head held high and eyes shining.

The three children ran out onto the grass to meet the great steed, fearless of his size or his many heavy hooves that could crush them. They trusted him wholly, and knew Sleipnir would never become so careless.

From their place beside the trap, Loki and Thor could both feel the greeting Sleipnir gave his three younger siblings. A wide, warm wash of love and joy poured forth from the steed and over the triplets, and the two brothers felt it as a light ripple against them, the source long distant but perceptible. There were no words in Sleipnir’s communication, only emotion, impression and the light imprint of memory. Loki’s eldest son was incapable of speech, or of changing his form as his younger brothers could, but he was eloquent in the language of horses, of body language and expression, and possessed that ability to communicate empathically with those who were open to him. And while what Sleipnir communicated had no actual words, some things came across so strong and clear that it was a simple matter to apply words to it.

To the triplets, for example, the mix of fierce joy, laughter, easy affection with a hint of afternoon sunshine and play, and the subtle memory of their previous visits could be ‘heard’ as, “Brothers! Sister!” Sleipnir was fond of his siblings, so tiny compared to him, and made no distinction between their shapes. They could have been stones and his love would have remained the same. Likewise, the triplets adored their elder brother, so much so that they faced their fears of Asgard to see him. 

They only wondered why he must remain a secret. 

After nuzzling each of his siblings, Sleipnir turned his huge head toward Loki, and fixed him with a black eye in whose depths there lurked a spark of something that was very much like Loki’s mischievous sense of humor. 

The wave of greeting that came over Loki was direct and powerful. This was not the edge of some message intended for another that he could sense as a fish senses movement in water, this thrummed along his nerves, infused his mind and tinted his thoughts. But if it was powerful, it was also gentle. Sleipnir did not overwhelm those he ‘spoke’ to.

There was, first and foremost, love, but a different sort than had been for Fenrir, Jörmungandr or Hela. For them had been a bright, fierce love that was boisterous and rough; the love of a brother for his younger siblings. This was a love that ran calmly, like a stream, but also deeply – a stream with the strength to cut into and shape the land it ran through. There was also joy, but like the love, it was deeper and calmer than the joy he felt for the triplets. It was joy that shone gently, contentedly at seeing Loki again. Memories suffused every feeling, worn soft at the edges in their age. Early memories of life, when the feel of the sun and smell of grass was still new, and the most important things had been the warmth of another body, the nourishment of milk, and the deep bond of a child and his parent. It all enveloped Loki completely, wrapping him in utter acceptance and warmth. This was Sleipnir’s way of greeting him, and it all combined to express a single thought that was best translated as, 

“Mother.”

Sleipnir came to Loki until the great head was put over his shoulder, the warmth of the stallion’s huge body sinking into him, a distinctive and not unpleasant horsey smell complimenting the scent of grass and wind.

Loki laid his hand on Sleipnir’s neck, the flow of blood and the strength of his muscles palpable under his palm. Shutting his eyes, he allowed a reply of emotion and impressions flow back to him. He was not as good at this skill as his eldest. Even the triplets showed more aptitude than he, but he could communicate simple trains of thought well enough, and what he sent now was familiar enough to need no special effort.

“Son.”

For a minute the two of them stood that way, sharing the simple yet profound sensing of each other through the empathic bond of mother and son. Loki took comfort, and let it show, that all he could feel from Sleipnir was contentment, peace and strength; no dark blot touched him or his sense of ease.

Sleipnir chuffed lightly into his hair, feeling the undercurrent of worry coming from his mother, and nudged him with his nose, a light admonishment for the needless concern. He was Odin’s steed and well loved, what could possibly happen to him?

When they saw that the greeting between Sleipnir and their father was finished, the triplets came forward again, not speaking but their emotions a raucous clamor for attention. With a final snuffle into Loki’s hair, Sleipnir did a neat turn and took off over the green hill at a sedate trot, calling back with a desire for a chasing game.

The children all obliged, sprinting after their brother’s flipping tail, Jörmungandr and Hela on two legs, Fenrir on four and Sleipnir on eight. 

Loki smiled. Watching four of his children play together in the sun, he slowly relaxed. It was something he had never thought he would see, even when things had been relatively good, seeing any of the half siblings meeting or enjoying each other’s company. It was odd, a strange clashing of parts of his life that had always remained separate, but pleasant in its own way. Peaceful. Possibly even hopeful. Though hopeful of _what_ he dared not think, for fear of shattering the illusion. Enough that it simply was and leave it at that. 

Sleipnir truly was a giant beside the triplets, a moving mountain of horseflesh, but he was supernaturally agile as well, able to keep track of eight limbs and three running, darting children all at once, and never came close to stepping on or cuffing a single one of them. It was interesting that even on their first introduction to each other, Sleipnir had shown no surprise when his two brothers could change their shapes, when he could not do so as well. Perhaps it was a memory of his mother changing shape, not long after his birth, that made it so easy to accept. And then there was Hela, whom Loki had been sure would make Sleipnir take pause, her odd nature doubly odd to his more animal sensibilities. But no, she too he accepted without question, only inquisitiveness, wanting to know more about these mysterious siblings he had never seen before. They had all taken to each other immediately, and fallen into the kind of play that they were even now engaged in: a game of ‘I Chase You, You Chase Me.’ A game played by children everywhere regardless of race, Realm, creed or species, and more complex than it first appeared with its constantly shifting alliances and teams, often changing at a mere look or whim. It was amusing to watch the different stratagems that surfaced throughout play. Jörmungandr, who had grown even more in his serpent’s body, tried to encircle those he wanted to catch, but always it was a simple matter to jump over his coils. Fenrir, who had also grown in his bestial body, found that as a wolf he could leap up to Sleipnir’s back, but not hold on. So he tried leaping up, then as he was coming down transformed back to boy shape in catch and cling to him. This did not have the desired result, and another set of the boy’s clothes gained rents and stains as he tumbled into the grass. Hela took to tactic of joining forces with her eldest brother, and clung to his back, safe and laughing at the others. 

The younger brothers didn’t begrudge her advantage. In fact they helped her up to Sleipnir’s back, as even kneeling he was too high for her to scramble up alone.

Thor shifting his weight from foot to foot warned Loki a moment before he spoke. “Forgive me, brother,” he said, and stalled. He licked his lips, eyes seeking out nephews and niece as his hands rubbed together unconsciously. Loki waited, and eventually blurted out. “But I do not understand.”

Loki suppressed a sigh and glanced at him out of the corners of his eyes. His big blond brother did look confused and awkward, looking in any direction but his. “And what is it that escapes you this time, Thor?”

If he caught the mild slight aimed at him, Thor chose not to show it. He merely stared into the meadow, clear blue eyes following Sleipnir as he charged back and forth, a small girl clinging to his back and trailing two brother shaped comets. “Why… Why do you not tell Tony Stark of your first son, Loki? You are practically bound, why withhold this from him?” he looked at Loki, and seeing the look on his face, added, “He would accept Sleipnir – nay, he would _love_ your firstborn as surely as the others. You know it is so.”

For a moment Loki considered snapping at Thor, telling him to mind his own business and leave the matter be. It was _his_ family, after all, and _his_ choice… But Thor had gone along with much in silence, and still carried out this duty that allowed Loki to see Sleipnir as often as he did. 

“… I share more with Stark,” he said slowly, “than any other creature in the Realms, Thor, save perhaps yourself. He has come to know me in ways that I would expect no one to know and not take to their heels, and with good reason. He has accepted more than I had ever thought anyone would do again. I have been… fortunate.” He paused, thinking of all Stark had done for him, all that he knew and how much he _still_ trusted him. How much that simple but difficult task meant to Loki… “But I will not share this,” he finished roughly.

“I do not understand,” Thor repeated.

The children were now racing each other back and forth. Because no one could hope to beat Sleipnir, they were taking it in turns to be the one who rode on his back and be on the victorious team. He was so large and broad that the children had to spread themselves across Sleipnir’s back and cling with arms and legs. It should have been impossible for them to stay on, but just as no one could ride the great steed unless he accepted the rider, none whom he wished to carry would fall.

“He represents a piece of my past,” he said eventually. “My past, brother, and a period that was full of shameful choices and foolish mistakes. I would rather not relive it, or have Stark know it when there is already much to test him. Let us leave it at that,” he added when he saw Thor preparing some protest. 

He did not look pleased with being cut off, nor with the explanation he’d been given, but Thor did subside with strained grace, lapsing into watchful silence. He truly had grown in the last few years. Loki was impressed, and proud of Thor in spite of himself. 

Loki had been young when he’d borne Sleipnir. Very young and very foolish, and altogether too impressed with his own cleverness by half to give his schemes the kind of careful consideration they deserved. Back then, the city of Asgard had still shown the signs of war with Jötunheimr, and the defensive wall encircling it had been greatly damaged. Repairs had already been underway by the Æsir themselves, when a mason – _the_ Mason – had come and promised to rebuild a new wall that was ten times better than the old one. To do so, though, he demanded a monstrous price none would pay. But Asgard, still fearing the Jötunar would manage to level another attack, needed the wall. It had been Loki’s idea to promise the Mason his price, but only if he could finish the wall within an impossible deadline. Most of the wall would be finished in that time, Loki reasoned, and they need not pay full price for a _mostly_ repaired wall. Taking a haggler’s tone, the Mason had agreed, but only if he could have his horse to assist with the moving of stone. None saw, or _could_ see, that the horse was what would make the difference between the Mason’s defeat and his victory. 

The Mason and his horse made rapid progress, and impossibly, looked to finish their task within the deadline meant to ensure their failure. Those who saw the coming disaster blamed Loki for his idea, for persuading Odin to accept, and the young Prince’s very life was in question, unless he thought quickly how to salvage the deal. 

Trapped, Loki took the only option he could see, and again put his plan to motion before thinking it out as fully as he should. He transformed into a mare, intent on luring away the horse, a stallion, and deprive the Mason his help, making finishing the wall within time impossible. 

The plan worked, but all too well. The stallion, Svaðilfari – and how he could remember the name of the _stallion_ and not the _Mason_! – had pursued him in his mare’s guise, chased him down and cornered him, and then had him. Svaðilfari had rutted him until exhausted, two days later, when he allowed Loki to escape. By then the deadline was past, and the wall unfinished. The Mason had failed and Loki was safe from the revenge of his own people, though at the cost of deep, personal shame. 

Still, he might have moved on from it all, the whole incident nothing more than a lesson learned, learned well and continued his young foolish life with only a memory. Except his shame took a physical shape – the unexpected offspring growing within him. Loki was trapped again, this time by his own body that could not change back while the foal grew in his womb. He remained a mare, separated from the palace and his family, for months as the foal grew, all the while feeling as it changed within him, as a dim awareness came to life in his womb and reached out to touch his mind. Loki had shuddered at that unfamiliar touch, fascinated and repelled at once, drawn by the bond that was growing along with his child, but reminded all too much of Svaðilfari and what had occurred to gain the child. 

When the foal had been born, Loki’s ambivalence had only intensified. He had intended at the beginning of his pregnancy that as soon as the foal was delivered he would change back to his old self and leave, doing his best to forget all that had happened. But the bond had grown too strong in the meantime, and the sight of his helpless child, all damp fur and a confusing tangle of scrawny limbs, melted the remaining ice in his heart. Loki remained, still a mare, and cared for his son. He suckled the foal, protected him, and enjoyed the warm comfort of his small, dappled gray presence. He enjoyed being a mother and in feeling his child growing stronger every day. 

But even with the maternal instinct coursing through him, he could not completely forget his shame with Svaðilfari. Whenever he looked on the foal he was reminded, the love between them tainted with that memory.

As soon as he was certain the child was strong enough, Loki transformed at last, to the foal’s surprise, and took them both back to Asgard. He found his father Odin and explained what had happened, where he had been, and where the eight legged foal had come from. He’d asked his father to take it, his firstborn child, and hide it from him. Care for and protect him, but somewhere where Loki would never have to lay eyes on him again. Odin had agreed, and before his son had been taken away, confused and a little frightened, Loki had named him Sleipnir.

That… had all been a very long time ago. Loki had since matured, for the most part, and moved past the old shame of Svaðilfari. There was still a little lingering bad feeling towards the stallion himself, but no longer so much as it would touch his son. But Loki still felt he could not approach Sleipnir, now for a very different shame. 

He was ashamed of _himself_ , for the callous treatment of his infant son, who had only understood that his mother was leaving him to strangers and he didn’t know why. Loki was weighed with that new guilt, of abandoning his child – a feeling that was only exacerbated later when he discovered his own true origins – and still stayed away. He was afraid, when he was willing to be honest with himself. He was afraid of what his own son would think of him. 

In the end, though, he need not have worried. Those years spent in self-imposed exile from his child had all been for naught. Sleipnir held no grudge. Not a speck of anger or resentment or bitterness marred the outpouring of love and joy at seeing his mother after so long. It was unexpected, to say the very least. 

Unexpected, and thoroughly undeserved.

Why was it he did not want Stark to know of his eldest son, his twice shame and beautifully gentle child? Perhaps because knowledge of Sleipnir would open doors to his past, to tales of his childhood he was not prepared to share. Perhaps because it would mean, as Stark would insist on seeing Sleipnir, bringing the man here, to Asgard. And if ever there was a poor plan, it would be in bringing Tony Stark, with his volatile streak of protectiveness, to Asgard. He would get himself killed before a day was out. Perhaps it was that finding Loki had at least one more child he did not know about would lead to questions, curiosity and sleuthing, all to discover if there were more of Loki’s brood to be found. 

Or perhaps, of all the reasons, Loki just did not want to reveal what kind of person he had once been, to abandon his own child. Loki had shared a great deal with Tony, and was continually surprised by his acceptance and understanding. This was one test he did not relish. 

Tony thought him a good father. What would he think if he knew this?

“How much longer, Thor?” Loki asked quietly.

Thor looked to the sky, judging. “A few hours only.”

Loki nodded. A few hours, and then months before he would be allowed to return again. He was lucky that no one knew Sleipnir was his son, that he was Odin’s own steed, treasured and protected, and still more that he was allowed to see him at all after giving him up. After all he had done. After he had lost so many others. He was lucky to have afternoons when he could just sit and watch his children play together in the sun. 

Loki, father and mother, found a place in the shade and watched his children at play, a smile on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. Loki's a mom. And nope, I'm not going to juggle the gender neutral terms for his relationship with Sleipnir, because he was a straight up mare when he bore him. Gods do that.
> 
> Svaðilfari: In this myth we’re never really given a clear idea of whether or not the relations between Svaðilfari and Loki were consensual or not, only that they ‘had such dealings’ that Sleipnir was the result. That those dealings were non-consensual is my personal interpretation. 
> 
> The more I read the myths and Loki in particular, the more I fall in love with him, his themes, history and his kids. The Eddas, the sagas, various devotionals, the more I read the worse it gets, and the further it extends to encompass more of his family. Obviously there’s a special place for Hela, Fenrir and Jörmungandr, but Sleipnir is quickly becoming a favorite, as are Narvi and Vali, his sons by Sigyn, (another huge fave). I would love to do something with them as well, but in this series it’s not too likely, considering what’s happened to them. If you don’t know, just Google it or read ‘Lokasenna,’ one of the poems in the Poetic Edda.
> 
> Think this contradicts the last fic, "Terrors"? That everyone heading off to Asgard would undermine the reasoning Loki used for not erasing the kids memories? In a way, it kinda does. In another it kinda doesn't. I'm well aware, and am sneakily using it for the future. I'm a semi-trained, quasi-professional. I (think) I know what I'm doing. ;P


End file.
